


Only Human

by canadduh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Hunter!Cas, M/M, OG Grandma, angel!Sam, angel!dean, brief mention of torture, casdeanflipfest2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 03:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20789615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadduh/pseuds/canadduh
Summary: After waking up in the desert with no memory of who he is, Dean learns that humans and angels have been at war for years.





	Only Human

**Author's Note:**

> Whew this has been a wild ride! 
> 
> I am super excited to be posting this (finally) and I'm also super excited for y'all to see the art done by the lovely [Usarechan](http://usarechan.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This wouldn't have happened without my alphabeta [Maggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160/pseuds/MaggieMaybe160). Also a huge thank you to Taylor-Kate and mallalory for beta-ing the fic as well! 
> 
> This lovely fest, the casdeanflipfest, was run by the [ProfoundBond Server](https://discord.gg/GGbw2NP). The mods were lovely, the other creators are lovely, and you should definitely join us there! 
> 
> I really hope y'all enjoy this!

_"I'm only human_  
_ I do what I can_  
_ I'm just a man_  
_ I do what I can_  
_ Don't put the blame on me_  
_ Don't put your blame on me“_

**June 2006**

He wakes up naked, alone, and with no idea where he is. The cold air causes goosebumps on his skin and sand bites into his back. The stars hang overhead and he lays there mapping them out, naming the constellations as he slips in and out of consciousness. Faces and words float through his dreams, but no matter how he grasps at them, they slip through his fingers like water in the ocean.

Hours later, days maybe, the sun begins to rise and the stars fade in pinks and blues. He finds the energy to sit up, but the motion sends a spike of pain along his spine and a ripple through his stomach, which he empties into the sand. Wiping his mouth, Dean rolls to his hands and knees and forces himself to stand. He blinks at the fading outline of his body but assumes that his mind is playing tricks on him. There’s no way he’s glowing

Two days of walking later, Dean sees the first sign of civilization. He’s covered in sweat and dirt and other things he doesn’t want to think about. He’s dying for a drink of water and a shower. Unfortunately, the ruined farmhouse doesn’t have running water, but it does have a chest full of old clothes that are somewhat near his size. 

He sleeps in a bed for the first time in days. The bed isn’t comfortable, but it’s better than the ground. In the morning, Dean resumes his journey, this time wearing dark blue jeans and a green plaid button-up. His feet are still bare but they no longer burn on the midday sand, which soon gives way to dead grass, an improvement as far as he’s concerned. 

When he stumbles across a creek a few hours later, Dean sends up a quick prayer of thanks. The prayer leaves a terrible taste in his mouth, so he vows to never do that again. He bathes as best he can and rinses his dirt-caked mouth, relishing in the almost-clean feeling left behind. The water is cool, and if he could, he would stay there forever.

But there are no answers for him out in the drylands, so he trudges on. 

A day later, he starts seeing more signs of human life. He stumbles upon an old road, cracked and worn, and he follows it north, hoping it will lead him to people, a shower, and a warm bed for the night.

It’s not until he can smell baking bread that Dean realizes he’s not hungry. He hasn’t felt the pangs of hunger since he woke up on the desert ground six days ago. He hasn’t been thirsty since the creek four days ago. He’s grateful for it, even if the knowledge is unsettling.

Dean knocks on the door of the quaint looking house with a white porch swing and two old rocking chairs. The woman who answers is gray and kind. She invites Dean in and offers him her grandson’s old clothes. The woman has outlived all her family and Dean settles there, helping where he can.

“You can call me Nana,” she says when Dean calls her ma’am for the fifth time the next morning. “It’s what my grandchildren called me.”

“Where are they?” he asks before he can stop himself. He wishes he could take his words back as soon as the pain flashes in her eyes. “I- you don’t have to— “ 

“They’re dead,” she says, bluntly, but not unkindly. “In the war.”

Dean doesn’t know how to respond. He’s lost whatever family he ever had, but he doesn’t remember enough to even mourn them, so he has no idea how Nana feels. He drops the subject and they return to their breakfast. 

They sit on the porch swing most nights, Nana with a cup of tea and Dean with a book. She likes the sound of Dean’s voice, so he reads to her. He enjoys the company.

He feels at home here, like he can create a new identity within these four walls and it doesn’t matter who he was before he woke in the desert those many weeks ago.

Nana asks about what it feels like to remember nothing. The question sits weirdly with Dean, but he doesn’t know why for days after answering it. 

“It’s not just that I don’t remember anything,” Dean explains one night after he finishes reading the latest chapter of _ Brave New World. _“The memories are there. I dream about them at night. I just can’t understand what I’m seeing. Nothing makes sense.” 

“Maybe it doesn’t need to,” Nana replies. Dean nods and they move on. Nana tells him stories about her past, growing up before the war, and Dean latches onto them. He likes learning about humanity. He doesn’t feel like it’s real though. So far, humanity is a story and the only humans are him and Nana. 

He comes on a Thursday. In the weeks Dean has been living with Nana—helping her garden, cooking dinner, existing, no one has ever knocked on the door. 

“Dean?” Nana calls from the living room, cautious, prepared. 

He puts down the plate he is drying and grabs one of the knives from the counter. Nana has a gun in her hands, one that Dean had seen before but never questioned. He understands now. 

“You expecting anyone?” Nana asks. She’s tense from head to toe, blue eyes boring into Dean’s with suspicion. He hates it. He acknowledges it. He respects it. 

“No,” Dean assures. He nods towards the door and they both step forward, in sync. It feels like they’ve done this a million times before. Dean focuses on his breathing and stands in front of Nana as he opens the door. 

The first thing he sees is blue. Blue eyes on a man only a couple of inches shorter than him. He notes that they’re the same shade as Nana’s but he can’t focus on that. Not when the man pulls out a gun and points it at Dean’s head. 

“Who are you?” Blue-eyes demands, his voice gruff and strained. 

“I don’t know,” Dean replies. He doesn’t think he ever will. “Who are you?” 

“Castiel?” Nana gasps from behind Dean. She pushes past Dean and wraps her arms around the startled man. 

“Nana,” Castiel whispers, sounding relieved. Pained. 

Nana pulls back and Dean notices the concerned look on her face. He sees the blood on her hands and when he looks to Castiel, the man is growing pale at an alarming rate. 

“Cas!” Nana shouts.

Dean jumps forward to help as the man blinks rapidly, his eyes rolling back. He falls into Dean’s arms with a dramatic flump. Dean lowers the man to the ground and at that moment it feels like his entire life has changed. 

“He’s your grandson?” Dean clarifies, watching as Nana pours hot water into a mug and sticks in a tea bag. “The one you thought was dead?” 

“Yes,” Nana says quietly. 

Nana clears her throat and sets the tray she just picked up back on the counter. She leans heavily against it and Dean is by her side in a second, pulling the woman into his arms. 

“Tell me about him?” Dean asks, hoping he’s saying the right thing. The only interaction he can remember is with Nana. He’s learned a lot about her in the last few weeks, so he thinks he’s on the right track. 

Nana nods and Dean guides her to the living room, where Cas is laying on the couch. His injury is bandaged now but the man is still unconscious. He settles Nana into one of the plush chairs, then goes to grab the tea. He sits on the arm of Nana’s chair, sensing that the woman would appreciate the comfort.

“Castiel was… special growing up. He was stoic, never seemed to enjoy much.” Nana reaches out and brushes the hair off Castiel’s forehead. Dean instinctively hates how pale the man looks. “We were a family of hunters. I hunted when I was younger, as did my husband and our children. We all hunted. Castiel though, he had so much care in his body, he didn’t want to hurt a single creature, monster or otherwise. 

“Castiel trained to be a doctor. He was in his last year of residency when the war broke out. Now, he’s never been able to let people suffer. So when the call went out for hunters to gather up, Castiel was gone in a heartbeat. Gabriel followed a few days later after I kicked him out for moping around the house. Those two were made to work together. In the first few years, they stopped by often. Checking up on me, resting, taking breaks. But as the war went on, and the angels started winning, they came back less often.” 

Dean pulls Nana into a hug as the woman sobs. She holds onto his arms and lets the tears flow for a few minutes before wiping them off on a handkerchief. Dean doesn’t let go but Nana doesn’t seem to care. 

“The last I heard of my boys, Dean, they were involved in a raid down in New Orleans. Bobby, my friend, and another retired hunter told me that there were many casualties, too many to count. When I didn’t hear from them after, I assumed they were among the dead.” 

“But Castiel’s here,” Dean says. He kisses Nana on the head and pulls back. She picks up her tea and takes a sip, sighing at the heat of it. “When do you think he’ll wake?” 

“I don’t know.” 

**August 2006**

Dean doesn’t know what to think about Castiel when the man first wakes up. Two days of taking care of the man leave him feeling protective over a connection they no longer have when Castiel wakes. The man is stoic, just like Nana had said, but he’s also polite and generally nice to be around unless it’s early in the morning. 

It’s during this time that Dean starts to notice weird things happening. Like the previous Tuesday morning when he’d sliced his thumb while mincing garlic and before he’d even made it to the sink, the cut had been gone. He still had to clean everything up and start over, but it was freaky. 

Or when he was looking for the shovel so he could work in Nana’s garden one Sunday evening and it had just appeared in his hand, as if summoned. Dean had glanced around to see if anyone was there, but Castiel and Nana were inside talking over tea and cookies. 

It’s a myriad of small things, but they all add up to something big and confusing that Dean isn’t prepared to acknowledge.

Especially not when he considers the fact that Castiel doesn’t trust him. The blue-eyed man is not outwardly hostile, and honestly, Dean likes spending time with the guy, but he never talks about himself. He keeps who he is hidden from Dean, which he understands. 

Dean wouldn’t trust the stranger with no idea who he is either. 

“What’s on your mind?” Nana asks, pulling Dean out of his head and back into the moment. He’s helping her get dinner ready and looks down to see that the carrot he is peeling is mostly shredded on the plate below. 

“It’s been two months, Nana, and I still don’t remember anything.” 

Nana nods and sets down the ladle she was using to stir the soup. She rinses her hands then places them on Dean’s shoulders, forcing him to sit on the stool behind him. Nana doesn’t remove her hands when they’re at an even height. It’s grounding, and Dean appreciates it. 

“It’s okay if you don’t remember anything,” Nana says gently. “Memories or not, you are compassionate, smart, and make a kickass pie.” Dean grins at that. “I get that it’s frustrating, but you just need to focus on making new memories, instead of finding your old ones. If it’s meant to happen, it will. If not, then that’s okay too.” 

Dean takes a deep breath, then nods. Nana’s right; he needs to focus on the present, not whatever happened to get him where he is. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Dean nods then picks up the next carrot and peels it correctly this time. 

The garden is Dean’s favorite place to go when he can’t sleep. He doesn’t feel tired very often, so he ends up spending many nights outside. Laying under stars that shine like beacons, calling him home to a place that feels no more real than the dreams he has when he does manage to sleep.

Some nights Castiel joins him and they lay on the grass in silence. They share the moment without needing anything from the other. It’s nice and Dean appreciates the quiet company. He feels less lonely with Castiel by his side. 

“Do you know how to fight?” Castiel asks softly one night, near three in the morning. His voice doesn’t cut through the night, but rather blends with it, like this was always going to be the first time they talked at night. 

It’s Dean’s fourth sleepless night in a row, but the first night Castiel has joined him this week. 

“I wouldn’t know.” It’s not that he doesn’t want to know. He’d like to be able to defend himself, defend Nana. But he’s not had occasion to know if he even _ knows _how to fight. 

“Of course,” Castiel says like he’d forgotten, and isn’t that just ironic? 

Dean’s almost tempted to say something about that. He hates how distant Castiel is. Dean wants to know more about the blue-eyed man, but aside from what Nana’s told him, he knows nothing. It’s frustrating. 

Instead, Dean drops it. 

A few days later, Dean enters the garden and finds Castiel in the middle of a workout. He stands there watching, instead of doing the polite thing and letting Castiel know he has an audience. 

The man is graceful as he moves around the garden. Dean can clearly see Castiel’s muscles ripple underneath his skin, and has to swallow and look away before he says something stupid. 

“Do you want to learn?” Castiel asks, and it’s only then that Dean realizes the man had stopped moving a while ago while Dean was imagining the many things Castiel could do with the training he gets up to. 

“I—yeah, I wanna learn.” 

“Come over here, then.” 

Dean does. 

Castiel teaches Dean to throw a punch and something unlocks in his head. It sends him reeling for a moment, nearly falling to the ground if not for the warm, distracting, hand on his elbow. Dean shakes his head and stands up straight. He smiles at Castiel. 

“I know how to fight.” 

“Okay,” is all Castiel says before lowering into a fighting stance and squaring up to Dean. “Prove it.” 

He proves it two seconds later when he pins Castiel on the ground. Castiel blinks twice then grins up at Dean and he feels something else in his head shift. Or maybe something between him and Castiel shifts. The other man seems looser, more open, as they continue to fight until Nana calls them in for dinner like two children playing out in the dirt. 

“What’s everything like?” Dean asks Cas on a day when the hunter isn’t busy practicing in the garden or polishing his guns for the hundredth time. They’re sitting in the living room, Dean with a book in his lap that he stopped pretending to read five minutes after Cas joined him. “Out there, I mean.” 

“Cold,” Castiel replies after a moment’s thought. Dean watches intently as Cas carefully weighs his words, like he might tip the balance and the whole world will come crashing down. “Harsh, unforgiving, excruciating.”

“Cheery.”

“Thanks.”

“What do you do, exactly?”

Castiel doesn’t reply for a few minutes, long enough that Dean doesn’t think he’s going to. He’s getting ready to apologize and change the subject when Castiel looks up at him.

“I lead the rebellion against the angels.” Cas’ reply is sarcastic and Dean snorts because, yeah, he knew that. Dean’s pretty sure Castiel knew what he meant, but he lets it go. “What’s it like not remembering anything?” 

“Weird,” Dean answers after a moment, trying to figure out how to explain it. “It’s like the memories are there, I just can’t access them. Like waking up from a nightmare and knowing it was bad, but not remembering what it was about.” 

“Do you think your memories are bad ones?” 

“Yes,” Dean responds immediately. “I wake up with the taste of blood in my mouth and the feeling of death on my hands. I try not to think about why I’d recognize the sensation, Castiel. It’s bad enough that I can identify it.” 

They don’t talk about it again after that. Instead, Dean continues to train with Castiel. They spend countless sleepless nights sparring and working on his form until Dean starts to correct Castiel’s form. Eventually, they’re just sparring.

Most of the time, Dean wins. He’s often frustrated by his inability to remember the steps it takes to do a certain move, but when he has no time to think, it comes naturally to him. He can land a roundhouse kick no problem, but breaking it down step by step takes more time than Dean would like. 

When Castiel starts talking of leaving for the front lines again, it feels almost natural that Dean goes with him. They discuss what the plan is, but never whether or not Dean is leaving with Cas.

Dean is grateful for Nana. The woman is more understanding than any human has the right to be. 

“You take care of yourself, Dean,” Nana says while Cas does one last check of the engine. It sounds like a threat. “And don’t let Castiel do anything stupid.” 

“I don’t think much could stop Castiel from doing something stupid.” 

“I can hear you,” Castiel says, closing the hood of the ancient-looking green Chevy. 

“Good,” Nana and Dean say at the same time. 

Dean grins and pulls Nana into a firm hug. He holds on for as long as he can stand it. He feels like this might be the last time he sees her and it makes him want to hold on to her forever. He wishes he could.

Once he lets go, Dean gets into the truck so that Castiel and Nana can say their goodbyes as well. He knows they’re trying to be quiet so that Dean can’t hear what they say, but he can still hear them. It’s an odd sensation. 

“Watch out for him,” Nana orders, and Dean feels a warmth in his chest. “That man has been through a lot.” 

“We all have, Nana,” Castiel replies in his impossibly deep voice. Dean smirks when Nana smacks Cas on the back of the head. 

“He’s good for you, hun,” Nana says, pulling Castiel into a hug. The man returns it easily. “He’s gonna put up a helluva fight if you try to sideline him, though.” 

Dean looks down at his hands when Cas turns to look at him. He can feel the weight of blue eyes on his head but he doesn’t react. 

“I don’t trust him,” Castiel says, and Dean feels it like a punch to his gut even if he’s not entirely surprised. 

“I do.” 

**September 2006 **

The Bunker is not what Dean expects 

Granted, he didn’t really know what a bunker was until he steps foot inside. He was too afraid to ask after the first time it was mentioned. 

Clearly, the building is old. The front entrance is on the second level with stairs leading directly to the main floor. There are archways leading to other rooms and vaulted ceilings that somehow remind Dean of places he never remembers going. The place is quiet, which isn’t surprising since it’s nearing midnight. 

The artificial lights immediately give Dean a headache. Something that takes hold right behind his eyes, squeezing and refusing to let him relax.

“This way,” Cas’s voice is quiet as he leads Dean down a well-lit hallway. They stop outside a door and Dean has to squint to see the faded number 918. “This is my room. If you need me I’ll be here.” 

Cas continues down the hallway and Dean follows. They make it three doors down and Cas takes out a set of keys and unlocks the door. Number 124. 

“This room is yours,” Cas says, guiding him in. “There’s bedding in the closet and the bathroom is with at the end of the hall, the last door on the right.” 

“Thanks,” Dean replies softly. He feels like he’s intruding but when he turns to say something, Cas is already in his own room. 

With nothing else to do, Dean makes up his bed, uses the bathroom, and is asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He wakes up only a few hours later, his stomach roiling and a pounding in his head. Dean barely has time to roll over before he throws up over the edge of the bed. He blinks once then closes his eyes, exhaustion seeping into his bones as nausea dissipates. 

A knock on the door wakes him and Dean is immediately out of bed, ready for a fight. When he remembers where he is, he goes to open the door revealing Cas, dressed as usual, with a plate of food. 

“Dean, are you okay?” Cas asks after a moment and Dean blinks in confusion, slowly following Cas’ concerned gaze towards his bed. 

The puke. 

“I—I vaguely remember that happening.” 

Cas stares at Dean for a moment, shoves the plate in his hands, and walks away. Dean holds the plate loosely, staring at where Cas disappears down the hall. He feels useless, standing there with a plate of fruit and the taste of vomit in his mouth. 

The hunter returns only moments later with a mop, a yellow bucket, and a bottle of something that smells like chemically made trees. 

Dean doesn’t think to offer his help until Cas finishes cleaning up Dean’s mess. The blue-eyed man just waves him off. 

“It’s already done, Dean,” Cas says with mild amusement. “You sure you’re feeling okay?” 

“I‘ve got a nasty headache,” Dean offers quietly. His head feels likes it's going to explode. He’s seconds from collapsing to the ground when Cas steps forward to steady him. 

“Why don’t you lay down,” Cas suggests. 

“Yeah. I’ll just—” Dean starts before promptly passing out. 

He wakes up to voices whispering urgently nearby. He recognizes Cas’s gravelly voice and lets that soothe him to some half-conscious state. It takes a moment for the words to register.

“You can’t keep him here, Cas,” the other voice snarls. Dean doesn’t like anyone taking that tone with Cas, and if he was willing to move he’d tell the voice that. 

“He’s not a pet, Gabe,” Cas replies. “I can’t _ keep _him anywhere.” 

Gabriel, then, Dean thinks. 

“You disappear for _ months _ and return with a stranger and you expect us to just accept that?”  
Gabriel demands, his voice getting louder. “We’re not stupid, Castiel.” 

“I never said you were,” Cas counters. “What’s the saying? ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?” 

“He’s our enemy?” Gabriel’s voice goes shrill, and Dean can’t help but wince at the sound. “And you let him in the bunker?” 

“He’s an angel, Gabe.” The anger lacing Cas’s voice cuts Dean deep and he doesn’t even know why. There’s no way Dean can be an angel. He’s human. Clearly, Cas is wrong. “It took me a while to figure it out. He hides it well. But his reaction to the warding was pretty damn clear, Gabe.” 

“What the hell, Cassie?” Gabriel snaps, and that seems to break Dean out of his half-awake state. 

“I’m… What?” Dean asks and then snaps his mouth shut when the brothers turn to glare at him. “No, seriously. What?” 

Castiel watches Dean with narrowed eyes. He remembers those sleepless nights in Nana’s garden, back when it was so easy to read Castiel’s expressions. Dean knew that Castiel didn’t trust him, the hunter had said it himself, and Dean has been trying to accept it. It’s easier to accept when the mistrust is as palpable as it is now.

“I-I- No,” Dean says finally. “I’m not an angel. There’s no friggin’ way. Cas?” 

Cas finally looks at Dean and he can’t help but shrink back at the betrayal and hurt in those cobalt eyes. Nausea builds up in Dean, a visceral reaction to the guilt that he’s feeling. 

Lights swirl before his eyes as something tugs lose in his gut. It feels like an explosion, a kaleidoscope of colors, as a scream is torn from his lips. 

It fucking hurts, but as the colors settle, as Dean returns to his body, a lot of things start to make sense. How he healed in moments when it should have taken months. The way that gardening tools would appear just because he wanted them too, the pounding headache he feels right now as his vision starts to tunnel. 

He’s getting tired of this shit. 

When he wakes up, it’s a slow and almost peaceful process. For a moment, Dean is back in his room at Nana’s house, and while it's not perfect, everything is right in the world. 

Except he’s a friggin angel. 

Although, he doesn’t feel like an angel. He remembers now, the power that he had held. He never had a corporeal form while he was an angel. There were no aches and pains. There was never the feeling of metal digging into flesh and blood wrists. 

“So, you’re alive.” 

If Dean could move, he’d have jumped up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. As it is, his hands are cuffed together behind him and his legs are tied to a chair. 

”Who’re you?” Dean wonders. The man looks vaguely familiar where he stands above Dean, but his mind is moving too sluggishly to place any names. “Where’re we?”

“I’m Gabriel,” the man replies, confusion clear in his eyes for a moment. “We met yesterday?” 

“Did we?” Dean asks, blinking slowly as his mind starts to clear. “Oh, shit we did.” 

“I’m here to offer you a deal,” Gabriel says in a way that grates on Dean’s already frayed nerves. “You tell us everything you know about angels and we won’t kill you.” 

“I didn’t even know I was a fucking angel until yesterday. I don’t have any fucking memories, Gabriel. Not ones that I didn’t make after waking up in the middle of the desert.” 

Dean takes a deep breath and looks at Gabriel who is staring at him oddly. 

“You’re glowing,” Gabriel says with a frown. 

He looks down at his hands and sees a swirl of colors slowly fading from around him. Dean groans. 

“Fucking hell,” Dean grunts. “Life was so much easier when I was at Nana’s house.” 

“You met Nana?” Gabriel demands, eyes flashing dangerously. 

“Yes?” Dean says slowly. “I was there for a month before Castiel even showed up. Your brother didn’t give you the memo?” 

“My dearest brother has been extremely tight-lipped about how you two met.” 

“He showed up one morning, bleeding, already half-unconscious.” Dean pauses, remembering the man he’d met what felt like eons ago. “Nana and I helped him. Apparently, I have a knack for healing, but I guess it wasn’t an all-natural process, looking back.” 

“If you so much as touched a—” 

“No,” Dean interrupts fiercely. “Nana is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I may not fucking remember life before I met her, but I know she is. I would never, ever, hurt her.” 

“Okay then.” 

“Gabriel,” Castiel’s familiar voice drifts in from the doorway and Dean winces. “You’re needed in the kitchen.” 

Gabriel grumbles as he stands, something about not being the only person here who can cook. He pauses at the door and nods firmly at Dean. His expression is still hard, but there is a glimmer in his eyes that gives Dean hope. 

“Dean,” Castiel acknowledges once Gabriel is gone. He holds himself stiffly, in a way he hasn’t done since he first woke up in Nana’s house and pain prevented him from relaxing. 

“Castiel.” 

Somehow, even when he’s indifferent, Castiel’s presence manages to be calming. 

“How’re you?” Castiel asks like Dean isn’t tied to a chair a thousand miles from the only home he knows. 

“Peachy,” Dean replies. “You know, except for the pounding headache.” 

It’s awkward, this silence between them. It reminds him of waking up in the desert, isolated, confused, and terrified. 

Dean is still trying to work out what being an angel means for him. He doesn’t feel any different than he did before and he still has no memories of who he is. 

“What’s up, Castiel?” Dean asks when the silence stretches on too long. 

“Why’d you lie to me?” Castiel asks. For just a second the betrayal in Cas’ eyes squeezes at Dean's chest but then he just feels strangely exhausted. 

“I didn’t,” Dean tells the man. Castiel opens his mouth to argue but Dean doesn’t let him. “I didn’t know. I don’t know how, Castiel, but I woke up in the desert thinking I was human. Maybe I fell, like Lucifer did or whatever, but obviously something went wrong.” 

“And now you’re an angel who thinks he’s a human.” 

“Something like that.” Dean takes a deep, calming breath. “Look Cas—Castiel. Man. I don’t know what you want to do about this. The wardings you guys are using, they’re killing me. I can feel that if nothing else. So if you want that to happen, want me dead, that’s fine. I get it. Really. But could you make it quicker This is not at all how I imagined dying.” 

“You’re not going to die,” Castiel says after a moment. He pulls something out of his pocket and regards it for a moment before narrowing his eyes at Dean. “Not yet anyway.” 

**November 2006**

The stars look different from the field outside the bunker. He knows that they’re exactly the same as they were at Nana’s house. Dean wishes with all that he is that he was back in that place. It was a home that he never knew he needed. 

_ “However, if you betray us, one step out of line, and you’ll wish you were dead.” Castiel tilted his head to a side in a manner that Dean really should not have found _endearing. 

Dean spends most of his nights outside. He’s sure that Gabriel and Castiel know, but they don’t bother him. Sometimes, he thinks Castiel misses their ritual of watching the stars in Nana’s garden as much as Dean does, but it’s clearly wishful thinking, considering Dean can’t be in the same room as Castiel without the man staring at him like some kind of specimen. 

_ “Why?” Dean asked when he was freed from the chair, bracelet secure around his wrist. _

_ “Nana said she trusted you. So I’m doing this for her.” _

The nights are getting colder but Dean doesn’t mind, he barely even notices. He likes it, in fact. The way his breath forms clouds in the air reminds him of smoke rising from the fire the one night he, Nana, and Castiel had decided to cook outside. 

“Dean.” He recognizes Castiel’s gruff voice and looks up in surprise. Castiel only acknowledges him when it’s absolutely necessary. “There’s a meeting in the war room and your presence is required.” 

Dean doesn’t spend much time in the war room. He avoids crowded rooms, and the war room and the kitchen tend to have the most people at any given point. 

Everyone currently in the bunker is in the war room. Dean feels his skin start to crawl and is seconds from making a quick exit when Cas clamps his hand down on Dean’s shoulder and pushes him into a chair. 

“Charlie returned last night with disturbing news,” Bobby says from where he stands at the front of the room. Castiel may be the official leader of the rebellion, but everyone listens to Bobby. 

“We’ve gotten angel sightings like nobody’s business. There are three major locations, Chicago, Baltimore, and Nashville. We think they’re planning their final strike. We have teams nearing Chicago and Baltimore now. Hannah’s team is leading the strike force in Chicago and Anael in Baltimore. That leaves us with Nashville, which has the largest concentration of angels we’ve seen in years.” 

“The last time there was a battle like this, we lost many of our friends, our family,” Castiel says from next to Dean and all eyes turn to him. “We learned many things from that encounter, so we absolutely won’t have a repeat, but there will be casualties.” 

“Charlie and Bobby will lead the recon group in Nashville,” Castiel says, detailing the plan for everyone. Dean watches how attentive they all are and shivers as he feels the tension building in the air. Castiel commands the room with a grace that captivates Dean.

“Wait,” Dean says dumbly when Castiel finishes his plan, having assigned everyone else a role. “What will I be doing?” 

Castiel looks at Dean for a moment, like he’s sizing him up, looking for something, but Dean doesn’t know what. 

“You’ll be our medic,” Castiel says once the silence has stretched to an uncomfortable length. “I don’t trust you on the battlefield, but we need all the hands we can get. You fuck this up and you’re done.” 

“Got it.” 

The meeting moves on and Dean tries to pay attention, he really does. But instead, he’s caught up trying to puzzle out why Castiel is even giving him this chance. It’s clear that the man doesn’t trust him even without Cas pointing it out. from what Dean understands, even a medic needs to be someone that the group trusts. 

Not to mention that Dean has never intentionally healed anything. 

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice washes over him, breaking him from his thoughts. “Can we talk?” 

Dean nods, realizing that while he was buried in his thoughts, the room had cleared of everyone. He watches as Castiel sits in the chair next to him but doesn’t move. 

“You—” Cas starts and clears his throat, “you truly have no idea what you are? Who you are?” 

The ache that Dean feels in his chest surprises him. Despite everything he at least thought Castiel had believed that. He feels frustration building as well. He’s spent the entire two months in the bunker trying to figure out who the hell he even is. Dean sort of hates that who he is depends entirely on who he was before. 

“The first thing I remember is waking up bare-assed in the middle of the desert,” Dean says, “Hell, it took you telling me for me to even figure out I wasn’t fucking human. Cause when I think about it… When I sit in my bed at night, unable to sleep, all I can think is ‘I’m supposed to be a human’. And I don’t even know why, Cas, I don’t know why I’m not human.” 

Cas looks at him like he doesn’t know how to respond. And really, Dean can understand that. He wouldn’t know how to respond either.  
  
“I just—” Dean starts again and then clears his throat. “All I want to do is help, Cas. That’s it.” 

“Okay,” Cas replies. He stands, places a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean watches as he walks away. 

It feels a little bit like the beginning of something. 

“You were right,” Dean says as he pulls his coat tighter around him. “It is colder out here.” 

They’re just outside Nashville waiting for the all-clear from the recon team. Dean feels the chill in his bones and can see his breath in the air. 

“It shouldn’t be this cold,” Castiel says from beside him. “Back before the war, this was one of the hottest regions of the US.” 

Dean doesn’t know how to respond to this. He’s gone over a month without having a full conversation with Castiel. It’s strange to fall back into their old habits. He’s saved from having to come up with something by the walkie Castiel holds coming to life. 

“Charlie to Cas. Come in Cas. Over.” The upbeat voice cuts through the air and some of the others jump in surprise. 

“This is Cas,” the hunter replies. “What’re we looking at?” 

“Almost three dozen of ‘em, Cas,” Charlie tells them. This time Dean picks up on the fear in her voice. “They’re just standing there, doing nothing.” 

Castiel doesn’t get the chance to respond before a sharp whistle comes from the walkie followed by static. 

“Charlie! Charlie! Come in Charlie!” Cas shouts into his walkie, but there’s no response. He takes a deep breath before turning to the rest of the hunters and Dean. “Let’s move out.” 

They split up into their designated teams. Dean knows he’s supposed to stay behind and wait for the order to provide the medical back up, but he’s moving before he can even register it. 

“Dean,” Castiel snaps when he sees the angel. “Stay back.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean says with a wry grin. “You need all the support you can get, Cas. You can kill me or whatever after everyone’s back safe.” 

Castiel nods and Dean falls into step beside him. As they near what has to be city center, Dean can hear shouting and for a brief moment he wants to turn back. He wants to go back to Nana’s house where everything was safe and peaceful and warm. 

“Stay here,” Castiel orders when they catch sight of the fight. “We’ll bring people to you.” 

“Cas, I can fight.” 

Castiel stops to regard him. Dean doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but Castiel seems to find it when he places a hand firmly on Dean’s shoulder. 

“I know you can, Dean. But I need you here. We need you here.” Castiel’s look is intense, but Dean can’t bring himself to look away from the determined blue eyes. “If the other angels know you’re here there’s no telling the damage that’ll cause.” 

Dean nods finally, setting down the medical supplies he only vaguely remembers how to use from his crash course with Inias. He watches carefully as the hunters move closer to the fray. He can feel his heart in his chest and wants desperately to join them but Cas is right. They’ve got to play it smart and Dean joining the fight right away is not smart. 

He tracks Castiel as the hunter moves down the street. Dean knows intimately the strength that Castiel has, but still, Dean worries about him. Compared to the Angels, Castiel is frighteningly fragile. 

“This fucking sucks,” Dean groans when he sees Castiel stab his angel blade through an angels chest. “I should be fighting with him.” 

Honestly, Castiel is beautiful to watch. He spins, ducks, and stabs with a grace that’s as deadly as it is captivating. Dean still feels apprehensive as he watches hits from the angels land but he—

There’s a kid. 

There’s a kid on the battlefield and Dean watches in horror as the boy hides behind a destroyed wall. He wants to yell to Cas, tell him to get the kid out of there, but he doesn’t want to draw any attention his way. 

Dean moves silently to a side street and then towards the fight. He can hear the battle continuing, but so far it’s impossible to tell who is winning. 

The kid is older than he thought, Dean realizes as he approaches from the side. Closer to 15 probably, and skinny as a stick. 

“Hey,” Dean whispers, startling the kid badly. Dean pauses when the kid turns to point a gun at him. “Hey, wait, I’m on your side, kid.” 

Gray eyes narrow at Dean, but eventually the kid relaxes. Dean takes a step forward when an explosion sends them both to the ground. Dean crawls over to the kid and sighs in relief when he sees that the kid is breathing. 

Dean shifts to his feet and grabs the boy under his arm, dragging him away from the fight and toward relative safety. He removes his jacket and lays it under the kid’s head just as agony pierces between his eyes. 

_ There was blood dripping from his arm, a cut running the length of it, but Dean felt no pain. Green eyes glared at the angel in front of him, defiant and filled with rage. _

_ “You will follow our orders,” the angel sneered, lifting the blade up to Dean’s face, “or you will be punished.” _

There’s a movement to Dean’s left and he turns to a startlingly familiar man with shoulder-length hair. Dean’s stomach turns as he lowers into a fighting stance, glaring at the angel. His head still aches but he needs to fight, to protect. 

“Dean?” 

_ “I refuse,” Dean snarled, arms tugging at the cuffs, teeth grinding together. “I refuse to take innocent lives.” _

_ Gordon grinned maliciously and Dean felt ice-cold fear running through his veins. He was nearing his limits. There was only so much pain he could take and Gordon was a sadistic bastard. _

_ “You don’t really have a choice here, Dean.” _

_ “I’d rather die.” _

“Who the hell are you?” Dean snaps, taking a step forward, drawing the angel away from the kid. 

“It’s Sam, Dean,” The angel says like this is supposed to mean something to him. 

Dean frowns because somehow, it does mean something. 

_ “Dean, are you sure?” Sam asked again. Dean glared at the angel, his best friend, his brother since they were fledglings. “I just... There’s no turning back from this. If you fall, you’re as good as dead.” _

_ “Gee, thanks, Sammy. That sure is reassuring,” Dean snapped, moving away from Sam. “You think I don’t know this? You think I want to turn my back on everything I am? Everything I’ve ever known and loved?” _

_ “Dean—” _

_ “If the alternative is killing innocent humans, taking lives in a war we don’t even agree with, then I’d choose this any day, Sammy.” _

_ “I know Dean,” Sam said after a breath. “I know our positions are different. I’ll do what I can to fix it from this side.” _

_ “That’s all I ask.” _

“This doesn’t look like fixing it, Sam,” Dean says, the bitter taste of blood in his mouth as his memories return. 

“I tried, Dean,” Sam says, arms hanging limply at his side. “It was either I join this fight or I’m dead. But I’m not fighting, not anymore.” 

“Dean?” Castiel says, and Dean spins to see the blue-eyed human with his angel blade up, ready to strike. “Who is this?” 

Dean is surprised by the betrayal in Castiel’s eyes, heavy and gut-wrenching. He’s not surprised, however, when Castiel leaps forward, bringing the blade down towards Sam’s heart. 

“Cas, don’t!” Dean shouts as he jumps in front of his brother, instincts driving him to protect the younger angel. 

The last thing he hears is Castiel shouting his name as pain radiates across his body and a white-hot light consumes him. 

The first thing he knows when he wakes up is pain. His chest hurts and he feels like he’s been run over by Castiel’s truck. His legs feel stiff and all he wants to do is go back to sleep. 

“Dean?” a voice asks hesitantly and Dean forces his eyes open to meet Castiel’s relieved ones. “Oh, thank goodness.” 

“This doesn’t feel like goodness,” Dean replies, the words scratching at his throat. He coughs to relieve some of the pain and gratefully accepts the glass of water from Castiel. “What happened.” 

“I stabbed you,” Castiel explains, guilt clear in his eyes. 

“Where are we?” Dean wonders, looking around at the blank, white walls of the room. 

“A clinic just outside of Kingfield,” Castiel says. “After I stabbed you, Sam tried to heal you, but he couldn’t do much. Something about your grace fighting back. He was able to keep you alive and we brought you here. It’s been three days.” 

“Sam?” 

“Your brother, yes.” Castiel looks away from Dean, suddenly looking unsure and it sets Dean on edge. 

“What else, Cas?” 

“You’re human.” 

“Oh,” Dean says after a moment. “Okay?” 

Castiel looks at him sharply. “Okay?” 

Dean shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, that was kinda the goal anyway. Somehow managed to fuck that up but hey, it kept me alive.” 

“That’s it?” Castiel asks. “You’re human now and it’s somehow all okay?” 

“Yeah?” Dean says cautiously. Castiel seems like he’s about to breakdown and Dean isn’t sure what’s going to push the hunter over the edge. “Cas, what’s wrong?” 

“I stabbed you!” Castiel suddenly shouts, toppling over the chair he’s in as he stands. “You almost died and you’re okay with that?” 

“Well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” Dean reaches for Castiel’s hand, pulling the man towards him. “I’m alive, you’re alive, and as far I’m concerned, that’s all that matters.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Castiel says fondly and Dean can’t help his smile. 

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.” 

Castiel’s lips crashing into his are a painful surprise, but one that Dean is wonderfully on-board with. After the initial shock, Dean finds that Castiel’s lips are delightfully soft and he groans into the kiss. 

When Castiel pulls back, they’re both breathing heavily and smiling. Dean feels a swell of affection at the almost dazed look in Castiel’s eyes. 

“Once you’re better, we’re doing more of that,” Castiel says, and Dean is one-hundred percent okay with that. 


End file.
